


i've got a burning desire for you, baby

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, don't look too hard for a plot because really....there isn't one, featuring: strap ons! sexy baths! sisters doin' it for themselves!, spellcest holiday swap, swingin sisters, this is basically just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: A few times a year, the sisters Spellman go away together for the weekend.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	i've got a burning desire for you, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HashtagTheyFucked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HashtagTheyFucked/gifts).



> It was so much fun to write something for HashtagTheyFucked for the Spellcest Secret Satan/Holiday Swap! I really hope that it is worth the very long wait!  
> Comments are love.   
> Title is from "Burning Desire" by Lana Del Rey.

A few times a year, the sisters Spellman go away together for the weekend. They relax in spas, spend too much money in casinos, attend conferences on the latest practices in embalming. They dance at festivals and overindulge in local wares from town fairs, hike to hot springs, road trip to national forests. 

The sisters take turns choosing the theme of the weekend. 

Many believe this is how the sisters manage to get on so well. 

If only they knew.

This time, it’s Zelda’s turn to choose, and she knows exactly what she wants.

To Ambrose and Sabrina, the sisters explain that they’ll be spending the weekend at an upscale hotel, known for its four-star restaurant and bar. 

The younger Spellmans think nothing of it, and why should they? Both are fully aware that the fancy restaurant is a convenient excuse for whatever it is they’ll actually do. Sabrina likes to imagine that they spend the time bickering over jigsaw puzzles. Ambrose likes to imagine that the sisters are _releasing tension_. 

They share a knowing glance over a plate of buttery, homemade croissants and ask no questions. 

To the outside world, they’re just two sisters spending quality time together, thick as thieves.

Bosom buddies. 

Just gals being pals. 

No one but the sisters _really_ knows what makes their relationship work. 

-

Last time, Hilda planned a weekend in Roswell, New Mexico, perfectly timed to attend the UFO Festival. 

Hilda had worn lime green antennae and a giant button affixed to her cardigan that read “I BELIEVE.” Zelda wore a scowl that could surely be seen by any unidentified flying objects hovering above. 

Zelda humored her younger sister and did not complain (much) when Hilda wore nothing but the antennae while they spent the rest of the weekend in bed. 

She has learned to limit her complaints, especially when she has specific plans of her own. 

-

“What’s so special about this hotel, anyway?” Hilda wonders, setting her book on the small nightstand between their beds. 

Zelda’s slow grin makes Hilda part her plump, pink lips. “It’s not here, and it’s the best of the best I could find within driving distance.” Pale fingers pluck at the drawstring of her black robe, parting the silk to reveal nothing but milky pale flesh beneath. “I want to indulge in my favorite things this weekend. I want to eat good food, drink decent liquor, and soak in a jacuzzi bath large enough to accommodate a family of four.” 

Zelda tugs down the edge of Hilda’s comforter, deftly hoists herself onto the too-high bed, and swings a leg over her hips. “Most of all, I plan to indulge in you.” She settles down over Hilda’s lap and grinds down against her. 

Hilda’s flushed chest is breathtaking. 

“Can we start now?” 

“We already have,” Zelda says, descending. 

-

On the first night, Zelda orders the king crab. 

She sucks melted butter off her thumb. 

Later, she sucks Hilda off her fingers. 

-

They wake before dawn even on weekends away. 

They make slow, sultry, sweaty, sensuous love until long after the sun rises. 

It’s _this_ that Zelda wanted. Oh, this -- Hilda, resplendent against Egyptian cotton, thighs parted so sweetly for greedy fingers and greedier mouth. 

It’s whispering promises against smooth shins and beckoning freckles and round hips. 

It’s swirling a tongue against the witch’s mark at the base of her sister’s throat. 

It’s nuzzling her nose against blonde curls. 

It’s gentle caresses on her cheek. 

It’s love.

-

“Turns out spending more for the jacuzzi bath _was_ an excellent idea,” the younger witch admits softly, almost imperceptible over the bubbling hum of said jacuzzi jets. 

Zelda hides her self-satisfied smirk in the tousle of blonde hair pinned atop her sister’s head. She curls her arm a little tighter around Hilda’s waist, tugging her closer to Zelda’s chest. “When will you finally admit, sister, that I’m always right?” 

Warm water laps at their bodies, kissing their heated, naked flesh. Zelda nips at her sister’s ear, delighting in the way Hilda’s laughter reverberates against her chest. 

“She’s beautiful _and_ she’s delusional.”

For that, Zelda pinches the soft, sensitive flesh of Hilda’s belly. The younger witch yelps and twists away from her fingers until Zelda quickly changes course. Pinching becomes tickling, and Hilda giggles.

Water sloshes, and Hilda’s cheeks are flushed and rosy and inviting, and Zelda cannot resist. 

She ceases her favorite hobby -- making her beloved baby sister squirm -- and instead slips her fingers between Hilda’s parted thighs. “Let’s enjoy these jets, darling, hmm?”

“Together?” 

“Always.” 

-

“What’s wrong with Johnnie Walker?” Hilda asks with an indignant huff on the second night. 

“It’s cheap, Hilda. We did not leave Greendale to drink the same swill we can order at your favorite watering hole. Besides, it’s my weekend to choose, and I want the Glenlivet.” 

The bartender winces. “I’m afraid I sold the last bottle of our Glenlivet.” 

Zelda glares. 

“A beautiful woman with excellent taste? Have I died and gone to heaven?” It adds a certain insult to injury that the man failing miserably at flirtation is holding the last bottle of her preferred Scotch. Zelda can already picture one of his shiny loafers hexed into a position of dishonor on one of the walls in the mortuary. 

“My friend and I couldn’t possibly drink this knowing that we were depriving two lovely women with such discerning palates.” He gestures behind him toward his friend, another equally nondescript middle-aged mortal. “You really _must_ join us.” 

Zelda doesn’t particularly want to spend time with anyone who isn’t her sister. 

What she _does_ want is to get drunk on her favorite Scotch and proceed to have sloppy, messy, frantic sex with Hilda. 

“Lead the way.”

-

After the first round, Zelda’s eyes shine as they sweep over the flushed swell of Hilda’s bosom. Her mouth waters. 

She catches their mortal companions appreciating the same view. Pride and jealousy burn bright as ever. 

-

Zelda is knocking back another shot when she feels Hilda’s hand sliding down the length of her thigh, toying with the hem of her skirt where it rests over her knee. She’s certain she had been wearing silk stockings but her legs are now bare, and the first brush of Hilda’s fingertips against her knee has her heart pounding. 

One of the men -- Harry, was it? Hank? -- winks at her as he sloppily refills her glass. 

Hilda’s hand teases beneath fabric, skimming up to her inner thigh. 

-

Zelda allows herself to stare as Hilda shrugs off her cardigan, exposing even more of her overheated, sunkissed flesh and perfect-for-nibbling collarbones. The low dip of her dress draws three pairs of eyes once again to her décolletage. 

No one, save Zelda of course, notices when Hilda’s hand disappears beneath the table. 

Zelda spreads her legs, shivering as Hilda’s pink fingernails scratch closer, closer, closer...

-

“You two are close, huh?” 

“As sisters,” Zelda answers, breathless.

-

“Come now, Hildie. Let’s powder our noses.” 

“My nose is already powdered,” Hilda replies innocently. Wandering fingers circle close -- but not close enough. 

“We’ll take care of her,” says the younger of the mortals, his grubby fingers resting over Hilda’s forearm. 

“Like heaven you will.” Zelda promptly closes her legs and gets to her feet. She doesn’t stop to listen to whatever asinine excuse her sister makes; she books it toward the lobby, knowing Hilda will be close behind. 

\- 

Hilda’s tongue is needy against the roof of her mouth, and Zelda groans as she gropes her sister’s breasts with both greedy hands. Hilda’s fingers in her hair pull and tug until Zelda tears her mouth away, throat exposed to her younger sister’s sharp incisors. 

She’s obscenely wet -- she can feel it sticky on her thighs.

The elevator creeps to a stop at their floor. 

Zelda takes a shaky step back, tugging her sister’s hand. 

-

The door they’re making out against is not their own. Zelda is very aware of this fact, is very aware of the sprawling king-sized bed they’d also paid extra for, but oh, she can’t do a damn thing about it right now, not when Hilda’s cupping her cunt through her dress and is stroking her in the most delicious of ways. 

“I know what you put in your bag before we left,” Hilda whispers, lips teasing against her sister’s cheek. “I want you to use it on me.”

Zelda bites her lip to stifle a moan as her sister’s wicked fingers rub tight, knowing caresses between her legs. She’s so close: to their room, to fucking her sister with a beloved toy, to her own gripping, glorious release. 

“I need you to fuck me silly, Zelds,” Hilda whines against her ear. 

Her orgasm is blinding. 

She’s aware of Hilda’s other hand clamping over her mouth to muffle her cries of pleasure, of her knees trembling, of her own hands clutching her sister’s hips. 

-

Zelda doesn’t wait for Hilda to undress, can’t bear to go another moment without touching her. Zelda falls back into the armchair, silicone cock jutting proudly from her naked hips. She pulls her sister down with her, arching up to claim her mouth in a sloppy kiss as she rucks up the fabric of her skirt. 

She whimpers when her knuckles discover how slick her panties are. Hilda’s keening groan remains one of Zelda’s favorite sounds. Zelda’s liquor-sharp focus pulls her from the heady lull of arousal so that she can hook her fingers around the soaked gusset, pulling it roughly aside. Hilda’s forehead comes to rest against Zelda’s own, her Scotch-sweet breath panting against her lips. “I need you, love. Please don’t make me wait.”

Hilda’s hips jump against her fingers and she moans when Zelda strokes her entire hand against her cunt, gathering all that slick before pumping her fist once along the length of the dildo. The younger witch steadies herself against the armchair’s high back and allows herself to be guided to just the right angle for Zelda to rub the head of her cock against Hilda’s slit. 

“Ooh, Satan, love, ple—aah!”

Zelda arches up. 

Hilda grinds down. 

Zelda is seated deep. 

Hilda throws her head back and cries out, rutting her hips lewdly against her sister’s lap.

“You wanted to fuck those mortals,” Zelda hisses, her greedy fingers sinking into Hilda’s ample hips, pulling her almost completely off the dildo before thrusting hard inside. “Admit it.”

“Yeah,” Hilda groans. “Wanted the bartender too.”

Zelda growls, nipping her teeth against Hilda’s plump lower lip. “Is this what you wanted? To be fucked like the filthy little tart you are?” 

“Yes!”

“But you’re mine, aren’t you?” 

“Zelds…” 

“Say it.” 

Hilda doesn’t say it. She comes instead.

-

If their waitress notices that both women gingerly take their seats at the breakfast table, she does not let on. She instead hurries away to fetch an americano and an Earl Grey, and for that she will be well-tipped.

Zelda relishes the sweet, stinging ache between her legs as she drapes her cloth napkin across her lap. Across the table, a wincing Hilda hisses as she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, but the flush across her cheeks confirms Zelda’s suspicion that Hilda doesn’t altogether dislike the discomfort.

Their eyes meet. 

Zelda smirks.

Hilda grins. 

“Next time, love, will you pack the healing salve? Especially if we’re bringing the _you-know-what_.”

Zelda raises an eyebrow. “The strap-on, Hildie. Honestly --” 

The waitress nearly drops her tray, much to Zelda’s mutual horror and delight. 

-

The drive home is comfortably quiet. 

They are sore, and sated, and silly with love for each other.

_This_ is why they take their weekends away. 

_This_ is what makes their relationship work. 

-

Ambrose asks if they’ve stolen a fancy hotel bathrobe for him. 

Sabrina asks if they’ve grabbed any tiny hotel shampoo that she can keep in her locker at Baxter High.

The man with the cockney accent on the answering machine asks if Mrs. Hilda Spellman is sitting down, because she’s just won two tickets to EuroVision 2020. 

“ _EuroVision_ , sister? Really?” 

“That’s our next weekend sorted, then.” 

“I suppose it is.” 

\---


End file.
